The study was an oblong room, and on one side book-shelves rose almost to the ceiling.  The opposite wall, between the windows, was covered with paintings, and several statues stood in the recesses near the chimney.  Over the low marble mantelpiece hung a full-length portrait, shrouded with black crape, and underneath was an exquisitely chased silver case, containing a small Swiss clock.  A beautiful terra-cotta vase, of antique shape, stood on the hearth, filled with choice and fragrant flowers, and near the window sat an elegant rosewood melodeon.  A circular table occupied the middle of the room, and here the evening meal was already arranged.  Beulah glanced timidly around as her conductor seated her beside the urn, and, seeing only cups for two persons, asked hesitatingly: 

“Shall I make your tea now?”

“Yes; and remember, Beulah, I shall expect you to make it every evening at this hour.  Breakfast and dinner I take with my sister and Pauline in the dining room, but my evenings are always spent here.  There, make another cup for yourself.”

A long silence ensued.  Dr. Hartwell seemed lost in reverie, for he sat with his eyes fixed on the tablecloth, and his head resting on his hand.  His features resumed their habitual expression of stern rigidity, and as Beulah looked at him she could scarcely believe that he was the same kind friend who had been so gentle and fatherly in his manner.  Intuitively she felt then that she had to deal with a chaotic, passionate, and moody nature, and, as she marked the knitting of his brows and the iron compression of his lips, her heart was haunted by grave forebodings.  While she sat pondering his haughty, impenetrable appearance, a servant entered.

“Sir, there is a messenger at the door.”

His master started slightly, pushed away his cup, and said: 

“Is the buggy ready?”

“Yes, sir; waiting at the door—­”

“Very well; I am coming.”

The windows opened down to the floor, and led into a vine-covered piazza.  He stepped up to one and stood a moment, as if loath to quit his sanctum; then, turning round, addressed Beulah: 

“Ah, child, I had almost forgotten you.  It is time you were asleep.  Do you know the way back to your room?”

“I can find it,” said she, rising from the table.

“Good-night; let me see you at breakfast if you feel strong enough to join us.”

He opened the door for her, and, hurrying out, Beulah found her own room without difficulty.  Walking up to Harriet, whom she saw waiting for her, she said in a grave, determined manner: 

“You have been very kind to me since I came here, and I feel grateful to you; but I have not been accustomed to have someone always waiting on me, and in future I shall not want you.  I can dress myself without any assistance, so you need not come to me night and morning.”

“I am obeying master’s orders.  He said I was to ’tend to you,” answered Harriet, wondering at the independent spirit evinced by the newcomer.